Prague’s Bohemian Heart

 

Beneath the veil of a sapphire sky,

Where Vltava’s waters gently sigh,

Lies Prague—the dream of stone and flame,

A city carved in time’s own name.

Old Town’s square with timeless grace,

Each cobblestone a whispered face;

Astronomer’s clock in gilded glow,

Marks centuries the stars still know.

The Castle stands on Hradčany’s height,

Its towers kissed by morning light;

Gothic spires pierce the air,

Like prayers of stone suspended there.

Across the bridge of Charles fair,

Where statues breathe their silent prayer,

The river hums a song of art,

Bohemian spirit, wild of heart.

In painted halls and vaulted dreams,

Where candlelight on marble gleams,

The city’s soul—romantic, free—

Flows like its river, endlessly.

Oh Prague, thou poet’s, painter’s muse,

Thy magic none could dare refuse;

For every dusk, each dawning hue,

Reveals an old world—born anew.

                            — Meenakshi Singh